A Warrior's Departure
by WardenN7
Summary: "It was an unnatural sight, seeing him on his death-bed like this. His tan skin had paled considerably, and sometimes he would close his eyes for long periods of time, and Katara thought that would be it, until he opened them once again, alive and partly well. It was a long and hard process."


It was hard, watching him go. It was an unnatural sight, seeing him on his death-bed like this. His tan skin had paled considerably, and sometimes he would close his eyes for long periods of time, and Katara thought that would be it, until he opened them once again, alive and partly well. It was a long and hard process.

He didn't make it easier for her, either. Cracking jokes in between coughing fits, Sokka would grin at her with a particular fondness that tugged at her heart, and a familiarity that only siblings could have. Sometimes he would reach for her hand, give it a weak squeeze, then lay it back on his side, his grin turning into a small smile, and his eyes begging her not to worry about him.

She didn't – _couldn't _– say anything back. What was she supposed to say at a time like this? After losing most of her friends, Sokka and Zuko were the only ones who were left, and soon Sokka would be leaving, too.

It didn't come as much of a shock. His health had been deteriorating for some time now, and as hard as he fought, it was only a matter of time until it actually got the best of him. It made him angry, though; being reduced to sitting in a bed because his body hurt too much to move. Sokka was a natural warrior. Lying down and accepting defeat was not something he would willingly consent to.

It was not fair. _When I die, I want it to be in battle, _he confessed to her once. _Republic City is in danger, the citizens scared for their lives, but wait! "Sokka has come to our rescue," the citizens will cry. "That devilishly handsome man. Surely he will protect us!"_

When he said it, Katara thought nothing of it. She laughed, because sometimes her brother could be so ridiculous, but in a good way. Now, as she sits and watches him in his last day on this world, she understood that he was serious. Maybe not in that same scenario, but Sokka legitimately wished for a warrior's death.

Katara thought she would do anything in that moment to make her brother happy. She would fly – run, if she had to! – to the North Pole, demand they give her some water from the Spirit Oasis, so she could heal her brother. Take away his illness, then let him have his warrior's death, because even though she wasn't the one dying, she felt like her heart was being continuously stabbed, over and over and over again, because her brother was dying and _unhappy_.

Another coughing fit. It was longer than the rest of them, and when he finished he seemed in a horrible state of pain. His eyes were glossed over, and he was breathing heavily, body shaking uncontrollably. Katara grabbed her bowl of water – plain in any measure of the word, nowhere close to Spirit Water – and held it in her lap, ready to do another healing session.

He shook his head. It was weak, but obvious to Katara, and after he got his breathing down a bit, he shook his head again, stronger than the last time. He was in too much pain to talk.

Katara was ready to slap Sokka across the head. Her brother was always stupid, but she couldn't believe he was _this _stupid. Raising her hands, water at the ready, she reached towards him, but he shook his head again, this time more vigorously. He tried to wave her off with his hand, but he couldn't stop it from trembling long enough to do anything of real significance.

He looked at her, a sliver of irritation in his tired eyes, and with a jolt Katara realized: _this was his warrior's death_.

Her eyes were wide with disbelief, but she couldn't say anything. All this time, he refused help from healers all across the world, insisting that he was doing better, and he was only getting better with each passing day, but he was _lying_. He had fought this for so long; his sickness the enemy, and he the brave hero.

He was getting what he wanted. The only difference was that he wouldn't be able to save the city: _he wouldn't be able to save himself._

Katara felt her eyes water. Whether they were from sadness or anger, she wasn't able to say, but she felt tears run across her face, because everything suddenly seemed so final now. She had known he was going to die, but she also didn't _know_. Her brother, the brave warrior, fighting ever since they were young, and continuing to fight till his last day.

Another coughing fit. It wasn't as hard, but it still took a toll on him, and she saw him slowly lean against his pillows, eyes growing dull, and she felt panic grow inside of her, because Aang did the exact same thing right when he was about to die, and he couldn't leave her, not yet, because how was she supposed to go on without him? How could he leave without taking her with him?

_You need me, and I'll never turn my back on you._

She reached for his hand and held it, hunched over in her chair, tears still pouring. His hand was trembling, worse now than ever before, and his breathing became more labored. But slowly, ever so slowly, she felt a squeeze back, and when she looked up, Sokka was looking not at her, but past her, and his smile was bigger than she had ever seen.

"Hey, Aang," he rasped, breathing heavy.

His blue eyes dulled completely now, and his hand went limp in hers, yet his smile still remained.

* * *

When the family came in they found Katara choking on her sobs, hand clinging to her brother's as if it was a lifeline, yet she was smiling.

She left quietly, and when asked how he passed, she told them he died like a warrior: brave, strong, and when it was time for him to go, another brave warrior had come to fetch him.


End file.
